The Dark Passenger
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: As increasingly extreme measures are needed for her to feel anything at all, Laurie Strode makes the fateful decision to invade the stomping grounds of one of the world's most notorious killers, Jason Voorhees. JasonLaurie, AU


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Halloween or Friday the 13th._

_**Summary: As increasingly extreme measures are needed for her to feel anything at all, Laurie Strode makes the fateful decision to invade the stomping grounds of one of the world's most notorious killers, Jason Voorhees. JasonLaurie, AU**_

_Yeah, I'm not really sure either! But I just got this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. I really hope that everyone enjoys this little fic of mine. The Laurie here is obviously post-Halloween, Zombie's version (to say the least, she's not mentally stable at all) and the Jason I'm using is just...well, Jason (and he's never been mentally stable). Haha. This was originally a oneshot idea, but I then realized that it would be super, super long and it felt rushed as I was writing it with the intent of finishing it as a oneshot. So, thus, a chapter fic was born. I hope that everyone enjoys!_

* * *

**The Dark Passenger  
Chapter One: Time Stands Still**

* * *

A grim look overtakes Laurie Strode's features.

She stands, hands in the pockets of her black hoodie, face tilted towards the nighttime sky. The stars look strange, so bright in the black canvas of night that it seems odd that they are there in the first place. It is odd that something so dark can harbor things that sparkle so brightly. She believes it almost to be a contradiction.

In fact, she is surprised she can see them at all, as bright as it is around her. The loudness of the carnival is a pleasant distraction from the constant chatter of people around her. The happiness of their voices had been almost cloying, and she had to push back the urge to scream.

Annie stands by her, an anchor in the chaos, but even her best friend is unable to hold the darkness at bay for too long. The brunette gives Laurie a look and then points upward. Laurie's eye follows her slender, scarred finger and sees that The Slingshot is unoccupied. An interested _thud _resonates in her chest.

"What d'ya think?" Annie asks, smiling at her. Her smiles have become limited as of late, almost timid, almost as if she is stepping on eggshells every time Laurie is around her. Laurie _hates_ it.

"Yeah," she replies, twisting her fingers into the frayed, torn edges of her sweatshirt. "Fine."

Annie gives her that _look_. That _mothering_ look that Laurie has come to despise, as if Annie wants to give her all the answers but Laurie just won't listen. Of course, why would she listen? It's not like Annie'll tell her anything she hasn't heard before.

_It'll get better, Laurie._

_Have you skipped your meds, Laurie?_

_Laurie, please...I'm here for you._

The voices in her head are eerily similar to the ones she so often hears around her. From her therapist, to Annie, to Sheriff Brackett. The only people she has left.

Before she realizes what she had been doing, a carnival worker is strapping her into The Slingshot. She feels nothing, not even when the worker straps Annie in and then walks back over to the control panel. "Ready?" he calls.

Annie gives a shaky little nod; Laurie says nothing.

The worker flips the switch, and the two of them are off into the air, soaring like a cannonball. Straight up, up, up.

Laurie holds her arms out to either side of her, as if she is a bird. She doesn't feel the swooping of her stomach as she reaches the apex of their flight, nor does she feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She feels light, free, calm.

She glances to her side. Annie is shrieking, her eyes squeezed shut, fingers clamped tightly onto the harness that holds her into the seat, keeping her from certain death.

In a strange moment, Laurie wonders what it would be like, if the ride were to fall to pieces. She wonders what the fall would feel like, if the safety net were to break. When the harness didn't matter. When the pliant string no longer held. She wonders that maybe then, she would feel something.

Laurie focuses her gaze out in front of her then, looking at the pinpricks of light that litter the sky. Slowly, she reaches a hand out to grasp them.

She is weightless, infinite.

That is, until gravity takes hold, and she is dragged back down to earth, more lifeless than she was before.

* * *

The Bracketts' household has become her own.

Not of her own volition, of course, but of necessity. Sure, it was nice being around Annie and her father for the most part, but that was before she started to realize just what exactly they were feeling when she was around them. They _pitied _her, they wanted her to _feel better_ when Laurie wanted to do anything and everything but.

Annie makes breakfast the morning following their carnival trip, a hum in her throat and a slight spring in her step. Her father is sitting at the table, nose buried in the newspaper, a frown line appearing between his brows. Uncaring, Laurie leans back in her chair, propping it against the wall as to not fall backward. She picks at her nails, not even wincing when she pulls at a particularly raw cuticle.

"Just a bagel this morning, Laurie?" Annie asks.

"I'm not hungry," she protests.

Laurie doesn't have to look up to see the look of disapproval her best friend gives her.

"I'll heat you up some oatmeal."

"I'm not going to eat it," Laurie continues.

"I know."

Laurie hooks the tips of her toes underneath the table, daring herself to fall backwards, the urge to do _something _pitting in her stomach. The numbness plagues her every minute of every day, unrelenting. A constant pressure around her. Dull and looming.

She needs to _feel_.

* * *

After breakfast - and after she slipped underneath the noses of both father and daughter detective - Laurie stands on the roof of the Brackett house, arms out to her side. Her feet scuffle and slip every now and then, but she doesn't mind. Her heart has been steady the entire time, pulse even, breathing rate normal, and it infuriates her to the point that she almost starts hysterically shouting.

She stares up again, the beginnings of a crazed laugh beginning in her throat. The sun beams down at her, but she doesn't look away until her eyes are watering. It is the closest to crying she has been since the incident occurred.

Incident. It's a funny word. Her therapist says it, the news says it, various books say it. Laurie can't believe she let the word escape her thoughts in reference to the event. It was not an _incident_. It was a _massacre._ Her parents murdered. Friends gone. Not including the various other innocents murdered by _his _hand.

She lowers herself down on the edge of the roof, letting her feet dangle. She swings them back and forth, looking at the chipped black polish on her toes. There is a throbbing along the soles of her feet, and it is only then she realizes that the roof had been rather hot.

Annie steps from the porch and walks to her car, the wind blowing her hair around her face as she goes. She does not notice Laurie, and for that Laurie is glad. She doesn't like explaining herself much, and she knows that if Annie were to catch her on the roof, she'd have to answer more of her damned _questions_.

For a moment, in fantasy, Laurie imagines herself a gargoyle. A creature built to watch, perched and ready to strike at a moment's notice. She imagines herself with fangs dripping with blood and a howl that shatters the night sky, with piercing eyes and sharp talons.

She imagines those talons piercing into the flesh of Annie's throat.

Shocked, Laurie gasps and scuttles away from the edge of the roof and back towards its peak. Her heart should be thundering in her chest from the violent imagery, but it is still. A steady thumping in her chest. She does feel shock, however, and that is something.

The violent images come and go on a regular basis, but they have never been directed at Annie. As annoyed as she might get with her now-roommate, the thoughts have never been directed at the only bit of light she has left in this marred, mangled world of hers.

And it is then she finds that, despite her steady heart and pulse, her hands are shaking.

* * *

She barges into work. Late. As she always is.

Mya greets her with a grin and a tossed bagel in her direction. Laurie has no intention of eating it. If Annie wasn't able to push some nourishment down her throat, then Mya sure as shit wouldn't be able to.

Laurie sighs, sets the bagel down on the counter and tries to force a smile. The night before had been plagued with horrid images. Images of death, screaming, blood. It was commonplace, but still unwelcome.

"Hello, bitches," Harley greets, bursting in the door just after her. The boss gives her a look that isn't as scolding as it should be as she ruffles Laurie's hair. The old man is fond of the three of them, and Laurie isn't going to complain about his lack of rules. That just means she is less likely to get fired when she is teetering on the edge.

Laurie finds that the time she is most at peace is at work, ironically enough. None of these people bear the scars of past horrors, none of these people are a constant reminder of her failures. They accept her, fucked up history and all, and Laurie has done nothing to deserve it.

She glances over to the head of the shop, watches as he flicks through the newspaper, _tsking _at something that particularly distresses him, and then turns the page.

"What's up?" Mya asks, leaning over the counter.

"Just the world, these days, dear," he replies, pressing the newspaper to the counter. There was a ringing from the front door, signalling a customer. "Hey, my man, what can we do you for today?"

Mya and Harley are instantly at attention, though Laurie lingers near the counter where the newspaper lay. There was something dark in her boss' tone, something that held a secret that he didn't seem to want to share with her in his presence.

Gazing down at the newspaper, she sees the headline - simple, and almost understated, and yet packed with so much power that she finds herself shakily gulping.

VOORHEES STRIKES AGAIN.

Her fingers wrap around the slightly bent edges of the newspaper, the feel of it familiar in her hand. She rolls it up and places it in the pocket of her hoodie.

Her heart _pounds_.

* * *

_**End Chapter One.**_


End file.
